He grinds his teeth from side to side. “Aaron said something about the hospital. It was spoken in anger. It was something like, he runs that place. The implication was that he had control over the medical staff. But I might be looking too deeply into it. Maybe he was just bluffing, just raging, you know what he’s like.”
“Why would he say that though?” I murmur. “And what could it mean for Grandma?”
“I don’t know, but this specialist is from my insurance. She has nothing to do with the hospital. And if Aaron’s been playing games, there’s only so much he can do inside the medical system. He can bend rules, but not break them.”
“You don’t know my uncle very well,” I whisper, tears pricking my eyes.
I angrily wipe them away, promising myself I won’t cry anymore.
When we get to the hospital, the first thing I do is rush to Grandma’s room, ignoring the receptionist when she yells at me to wait. Grandma is sleeping peacefully, her chest rising andfalling, a soft smile on her face. I clasp my hand to my chest as Dom walks up next to me, wrapping his arm around me.
“This way, please,” the receptionist says, giving Dom a look.
“I want him in there with me,” I say firmly. “For support.”
She nods understandingly.
A minute later, we’re in a small office with Doctor Shah. She’s an elegant woman with jet-black hair tied up and thin-framed glasses perched on her nose. She greets me with a small smile, then takes the seat opposite.
“Thank you for coming so fast,” she says.
“Is it bad news?” I ask, my belly twisting painfully.
“No,” Doctor Shah says.
I breathe a sigh of relief, clinging to Dom’s hand. I’m probably squeezing him too hard, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s got one hand on mine and the other wrapped around me. His comfort is invaluable at this moment.
“What, then?”
“I’ve reported Doctor Pinckney to the Medical Board for review.”
“What?” I gasp. “Why?”
“There were several questionable inconsistencies in his approach to diagnosing your grandmother with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. While reviewing his work, I had cause for concern, so I have conducted my own tests.”
“And?” I ask desperately, my head spinning.
Dom’s instincts were right. Aaron wasn’t just making a comment, the sick freak. He was bragging.
“I can tell you with confidence that the results don’t fit with ALS,” Doctor Shah says.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, clinging onto Dom even more tightly.
“What she has instead is a condition called Multifocal Motor Neuropathy. It can resemble ALS in the early stages—particularly the weakness in the hands—but the underlying cause is very different.”
I nod, trying to take it all in.
“In ALS,” she goes on. “The nerve cells themselves gradually fail. In your grandmother’s case, the issue is with the signals traveling along the nerves, and it appears to be driven by her immune system interfering with that process.
“The turning point for us was the electrical testing. The nerve conduction study. We identified areas where the signal was being blocked as it moved along the nerve. That pattern simply isn’t seen in ALS. Alongside that, her blood tests showed antibodies that are often associated with this kind of immune-related neuropathy.”
“This other condition, is it bad? Is it worse than ALS? Better?” I’m practically screaming, my throat raw, my entire world collapsing in on itself.
Aaron didn’t just seize an opportunity to blackmail me. He puppeteered it. He used my grandmother as a twisted tool.
“I don’t want to pretend this is nothing,” she says. “Shedoeshave a neurological condition. It will need treatment andmonitoring. But this is not the diagnosis you were preparing yourselves for. This condition is treatable.”
“Treatable,” I repeat, looking at Dom through blurry eyes. He smiles supportively, leaning over and resting his forehead against mine for a half second of intimacy.
